Adventures of Nooroo and Red Admiral
by FlimFlam3
Summary: Before Hawk Moth, there was Red Admiral. follow the adventures to Nooroo and his former holder, during a very difficult time in Europe. Rated T for some political situations and substance abuse
1. Chapter 1

**1 – The author does not own or makes any claims over Miraculous: Adventures of Ladybug and Chat Noir or it's elements.**

 **2 – No disrespect whatsoever intended to the historical figures portraited here.**

 **3 – Tale for entertainment purposes only**

 **4 – This is a very different Miraculous fanfic. I need your opinion and reviews to know if this is acceptable and if I should cut it short or keep going.**

* * *

THE FIRST TOAST TO A BUTTERFLY

* * *

Maybe his critics were right. Maybe the drinking finally got to him. If not a hallucination, perchance every artist of the past is wrong and Death is not a hooded skeleton, but a small purple imp. After some exchange of words, somehow, he convinced the box he found between his mail that morning brought a ray of hope. A purple ray.

"Nooroo, is that right? Some sort of djinn from the Orient-"

"Actually, I am since the human desire is. So… Africa.

That's insane. He had an empire to save, and there he was, in his office at home, talking to a… to what?

"Now you are presenting yourself as God of Desire. Truly, Italians are into something. Se non è vero, è ben trovato.*"

"I don't like the connotations of 'god'. If you need to classify me, I am a kwami. And, yes, desire, ambition, aspirations…"

"Well, I desire to get rid of that maniac house painter who is ruling Germany. What you can do about it?"

"Me? Nothing. We will do it together, Winston. I can give you the means to accomplish this."

"I don't have time to waste. Explain how, pint-sized Prometheus."

"You will give some of your men powers, gifts beyond any mortal dream."

"Preposterous."

"Put on the brooch and say 'Wings, rise'. After a minute or so, say 'Wings, fall'."

"Certainly a bold fashion statement." He said, adjusting the gem on his cravat.

After a while, a shaking Winston was pouring a shot. After drinking the contends in one big gulp, he spoke.

"It was… godlike. I could sense, share the feelings of dozens of subjects. Could understand their desires and objectives, perhaps even better than themselves. Like spying on their very souls."

"Not preposterous, right? Now, let me teach you to focus on one and how to grant this person powers and abilities to reach their goals."

"And, perchance mine? And the Crown's?"

"Huh… you must be careful with this power."

"Truly, in some souls I pried, those intersect."

"That's truth, and that's the reason you're my Holder now, but… be careful."

He sipped from his glass.

"Ready for the first lesson, Yearning One."

"No more questions?"

"Several. But now I may have a trump card, and wish to use it. Time is neutral, but it can be made the ally of those who will seize it and use it to the full."

* * *

*Se non è vero, è bem trovato – if it's not true, it's very well conceived.

* * *

Jim Bolton exited the pub because it was closing, looking around the city trying to remember if there's another gin joint still open. Where else he could go? Home, to tell his wife he just spend their last quids on drinks and, the way the small newspaper he works on is going, he hardly will have more coming? To work for an ever-shrinking readership? Sad true is, in that region, there's lots of good writers and reporters working for a rival paper, one that is sympathetic to Europe's dictators, defending the supposed advantages of a British national-socialism. Bolton did not blame the readers, however. People with few or no hope on the horizon cling to any promise. He blamed himself. If his paper had writers good enough to show the other side, if he knew how to put the truth on the paper…

So worried – and intoxicated, sure – he was he did not notice a white butterfly approaching and fusing with the pen on his pocket. Then, he heard a voice on his head

"Pen of the Island. I am… Red Admiral. I have a proposal for you."

* * *

Two days later, Churchill was reading the paper with a proud Nooroo on his shoulder

"It's a reproduction of the passionate article from mysterious Pen of the Island. It left the frontiers of the small local newsrag behind and is making waves across the empire."

The kwami reached for a classified document.

"And according to the intelligence, that other fascist newspaper lost half of their readership."

Churchill opened his drawer, and reached for a bottle of champagne.

"I stole this thimble from Clementine. Now is time to use it." Filling it with the bubbling liquid, he passed it to Nooroo, before filling his glass "To our first success, smallest Prometheus."

"It worked better than I would imagine."

"The English language is one of our greatest sources of inspiration and strength."

"But I don't drink, Winston."

"You do now. I don't trust a man – or djinn – who has not a single redeeming vice."

"Well, it will not hurt, I guess" said Nooroo, taking a sip.

"That reminds me of that time on Canada…"

Minutes later, Nooroo was finishing his second thimble and laughing loud.

"Again, again. You were on that snotty dinner, with a Methodist bishop at your side, the waitress, the waitress…"

"She appeared with a tray of sherry glasses. I took one, but the bishop was infuriated. He said: 'Young lady, I'd rather commit adultery than take an intoxicating beverage.' I answered…"

Nooroo laughed even more:

"'Come back, lassie; I didn't know we had a choice'. Winston, Winston, I sense we'll have a great partnership. Tell me another story… and fill up this thimble."

"Not now, my pocket partner. I have a meeting at the parliament."

"Oh. Do you think they will make you Prime-Minister?"

"No, not yet. It's a fine game to play, the game of politics – and it's well worth waiting for a good hand before really plunging."

* * *

 **Like every historical figure, Winston Churchill is full of controversies. I don't dare or dream, here, to paint an accurate historical portrait of him. I just want to entertain a bit – In the end of the tale, I will provide my bibliography, but I humbly invite you to research this man.**

 **And tell me what do you think, and if you would like a similar tale with Tikki and her second favorite French teenager girl holder, Joan of Arc**


	2. Chapter 2

**1 – The author does not own or makes any claims over Miraculous: Adventures of Ladybug and Chat Noir or it's elements.**

 **2 – No disrespect whatsoever intended to the historical figures portraited here.**

 **3 – Tale for entertainment purposes only**

 **4 – If you are interested in some lighter Miraculous fanfic, may I suggest my "Kwamisplaced"**

* * *

..o..O..o..

* * *

Nor the employees, nor even Clementine knew why that particular room is now sealed to everyone. Only Churchill himself could enter, what he did in a very quick way, avoiding any strange eyes to peek inside. This is not actually true. To much of Nooroo's displeasure…

"The cat got in again, Winston" said an out of breath kwami, tired of avoiding the fate of half-dozen shred-to-pieces butterfly in the floor. Dozens of others flew around the small room.

Churchill took a deep breath from his cigar, before smashing it on the ashtray over a very old nightstand, the only furniture on the room.

"Which feline do you spoke of? Tango? Mickey?"

"How should I know? I was too busy flying for my life to ask for his name."

"Never mind, dear purple sylph. Things are on the move. Even the most simpleton enchanted by Chamberlain's* platitudes on the House of Commons are aware of the dangers of German's greed. Come. Let's find an engineer with a troubled soul and make him design a war machine to shame Mars and Minerva forever."

"Things don't work like so, Winston. Even if Red Admiral finds an engineer in despair, his troubles may not be war-related."

"The marvels you grant came with too much rules, Nooroo. Pen of the Island just lasted a couple of hours before reverting to his civilian, normal self."

"Enough to fulfill his desire, to save the small newspaper he worked for. In the process, we closed an Axis propaganda spot, but that was not his primary wish."

"And I can only grant supernatural capabilities to one person at a time, when we are in need of a battalion of Übermensch**."

"My powers have limitations, Winston. I never said to be Red Admiral would not require sweat and toil."

"And while I am dealing with this sweat and toil, our boys bleed in some corner of…"

The man suddenly stopped.

"Winston?"

Nooroo stood there, while Churchill mumbled "sweat, toil, blood; blood, toil, tears, sweat", before storming out of the room, shouting

"Miss Layton! Where's my secretary? Miss Layton, I need to put some ideas on paper."

Nooroo was about to say something, but watched, in horror, a cat walking in before the door closes.

* * *

 ***Neville Chamberlain** , prime minister of the United Kingdom from 1937 to 1940. Most historians have negative view of his appeasement policy, and his sign of a treaty that gave part of Czechoslovakia to Nazi Germany, in 1938, and for not preparing UK for war. Churchill replaced him as Prime-minister.

 **** Übermensch** , idea discussed by philosopher Nietzsche, commonly translated as "super-men", people with innate characteristics and abilities that put them above the common man.

* * *

It was late night when Churchill returned to the room, bringing some of the kwami's favorite food, and shooed the cat in the process. Nooroo took some deep breaths before eating.

"At least that furry hell-spawn of yours gave me enough exercise. Something you should consider, Winston."

"I get my exercise being a pallbearer for those of my friends who believe in regular running and calisthenics. Now, shall we work?"

* * *

 **Two months later**

It became a ritual for Nooroo, starting the day reading the news and documents sitting on Churchill's shoulder. But that particular morning, he spent most of time hiding on the politician inner pocket. After many people coming and leaving, he felt Churchill opening his coat to talk to him.

"So, what you got from all this talk, Nooroo? I can use the perspective of a being that is alive for millennia."

"I got Chamberlain will resign today or tomorrow the latest. Most likely today."

"Every hour counts after three years where unwisdom prevailed."

"'Unwisdom', Winston?"

Churchill chuckled and lighted up a cigar.

"Do you think you will be called up? His following called you an unleashed elephant, after all." Nooroo laughed "and we all know you're a butterfly."

"I've being very vocal about the perils of Hitler for years. Now happenings proved me right. What choice do they have? I wonder if there's time for even this elephant to make a difference. No adventures for us tonight, dear djinn. I have a speech to perfect, people to meet and I am giving you the task of finding a way to transport all those butterflies to 10 Downing Street."

* * *

 **Two days after – May 11, 1940**

After having Churchill as a holder for some time, Nooroo found a dropper, now his most prized possession, used to partake Churchill's breakfast whisky. After feeling the golden liquid burn so nicely his throat, he went.

"Did you sleep at all last night, Winston?"

"There's no time for this. I have a government to make."

"I care about you, Winston. In fact, I would hope to still be with you on your hundredth birthday."

"I don't see why not, Nooroo. You look healthy enough. Jump in my pocket, I need to talk with Chamberlain in my future house."

There was a small crowd in front of number 10. As Churchill stepped out of the car, they cheered.

"Good luck, Winnie!"

"God bless you!"

The kwami saw Winston wave and make the already traditional "V" sign before entering the Prime Minister house.

What Nooroo did not expect was for Churchill to ask for the bathroom, before seeing Chamberlain.

And really did not expect to see that man, once there, cry.

"Those poor people, poor people. They trust me, and I can give them nothing but disaster for quite a long time."

"Winston…"

He was already drying his eyes and putting a braver face.

"Hide, pint-sized companion; we can not let Chamberlain waiting."

* * *

Later that night, Churchill, reviewing document after document, plan after plan, felt someone lightly tugging his sleeve.

"Let's work, Winston."

"I have no time for…"

"The poor people of earlier today, Winston. Don't you want to bring hope to at least one?"

Churchill abandoned his desk and went quickly to his secret room.

"I think only Clementine knows more about my needs than you, Nooroo. Wings, rise."

* * *

Emma Endicott could not sleep. She grew up listening to the heroic feats of her mother and father, nurse and soldier during the First Great War. Now, her country is at it again, but, unlike her parents, she feels completely useless. Plagued with asthma since a kid, her school record was not the brightest, nor she has capacity to work at factories that help the country at war. Fearing no one else would want a sick wife, she married an older man who also can't help the effort, Too old to join, too poor to donate. Months ago she thought she found her way. Her house has a pitiful small backyard, but even so is somewhere to plant food. She could feed her family and give the excess to the hospital nearby. Or so she thought. Who is to blame? Weather? The soil? Her lack of abilities? No matter, not even weed grew on her bare soil. She was about to return to bed, when a white butterfly fused with the gardening tool she was holding. Soon, her mind was filled with alien thoughts.

"Garden Spade, I am Red Admiral."

* * *

 **Two days later - May 13, 1940**

Nooroo was jumping of joy reading the morning newspaper.

"Let's open another champagne, Winston, listen: 'Kennington Woman's Miracle Kitchen Garden: Emma Endicott is being an inspiration for her neighbors with her over fertile backyard garden, where she grows…'"

"Save for later, little Prometheus, we have a full day ahead."

"Right." Nooroo flew to Winston Pocket. "Give the parliament everything you got, Winston."

"Like I said to my ministers, Nooroo, I have nothing to…"

* * *

"… offer but blood, toil, tears and sweat.

We have before us an ordeal of the most grievous kind. We have before us many, many long months of struggle and of suffering.

You ask, what is our policy? I will say: It is to wage war, by sea, land and air, with all our might and with all the strength that God can give us; to wage war against a monstrous tyranny, never surpassed in the dark and lamentable catalogue of human crime. That is our policy. You ask, what is our aim? I can answer in one word: Victory. Victory at all costs—Victory in spite of all terror—Victory, however long and hard the road may be, for without victory there is no survival. Let that be realised; no survival for the British Empire, no survival for all that the British Empire has stood for, no survival for the urge and impulse of the ages, that mankind will move forward towards its goal. But I take up my task with buoyancy and hope. I feel sure that our cause will not be suffered to fail among men. At this time I feel entitled to claim the aid of all, and I say, 'come then, let us go forward together with our united strength'."

Nooroo took a risk and looked around. For a so-called government of coalition and union, the applause where too much one-sided. Things will not be easy.

* * *

..o..O..o..

* * *

 **I will put this one as another tale I was sure would entertain you, but felt too short of it. Will try to wrap up everything on the next chapter, and give attention to other writings. Your opinion on how this could be improved is more important than ever.**


	3. Chapter 3

**\- The author does not own nor has any claim over Miraculous: Adventures of Ladybug and Chat Noir, it's characters or elements.**

 **\- This tale does not intend to be a history lesson. Author's bibliography on Winston Churchill and WWII will be post at the end of the story.**

 **\- Please enjoy. Opinions more than welcomed.**

* * *

The light didn't went out at 10 Downing Street that day.

"Let's find someone, dear Nooroo."

"Winston, it's almost midnight."

The man didn't listen to the kwami complain, walking around the small, dim-lighted room, making the white butterflies fly everywhere.

"Can we empower Stephenson*? I gave him the three most crucial goals at this stage: Get military aid for Britain; counter Enemy Intelligence in the Western Hemisphere; bring the United States to the War. He will need every ounce of assistance one can provide."

"We can't target one individual in particular, you know."

"So, I shall trust in a mere man. Competent, but a mere man."

Nooroo was busy filling up his dropper on Winston's whisky, before ingesting the liquid and smiling.

"Everybody's in Britain is, Winston."

"Not everybody, purple djinn. The Tories don't trust me. In fact, they believe I will fall in the first war challenge."

"I know. That Eckersley** fellow said you will not last five months."

"We'll prove them wrong."

It was three in the morning when the new Prime-Minister of Britain finally went to bed.

* * *

 ***William Stephenson** , a senior intelligence officer Winston Churchill sent to the United States

 ****Peter Eckersley** , a Tory (conservative) Member of Parliament, following his party opinion on Churchill at the beginning of his government.

* * *

MAY 26TH, 1940

Nooroo shook his head, reading the telegram as Churchill talked on the phone. The challenge came quicker than both would expect. The same day Winston was sworn Prime-Minister, the enemy forces invaded France in two different places, destroying the allied armies in their patch. Yesterday, Boulogne felt. And now… Nooroo drunk from his dropper.

"Yes, my diminutive friend. They took Calais." A sad Winston said. "Our lads, and the remaining from French and Belgian armies are trapped around Dunkirk."

Nooroo flew to a map.

"Are we really doing that thing you discussed last week?"

"Yes. Wings, rise."

One can count on their hands the amount of people who know about operation Dynamo. Important military officials. High government members. And Raymond Patel. A mere radio operator. A night-shift radio operator. Even doing the minimum effort for saving the troops were, therefore, denied to him. He thinks about everything that could go wrong. He looked to his pen, a freebie from the beach hotel of his honeymoon, with the figure of Neptune. Yes, he could make this attack go smooth or badly. Just one change on the weather, and… And there are other possibilities, a rapid attack from the enemy, lack of communication between boats, a, a… He was so worried he didn't noticed a white butterfly approaching his pen and fusing itself with it, until a powerful voice overcame his thoughts.

"English Channeler, I am Red Admiral."

* * *

Winston Churchill could see them through English Channeler eyes.

Fred Williams, whose fishing boat was its sole possession. Sure, it was an old thing, in dire need of repairs, its engine coughing up irregular noises, smoking, leaving a trail of fluids behind itself on the sea. And still going forward.

Norman Fairfax III, whose elegant yacht is a witness of a family fortune older than many countries. In a couple of years, Norman intend to change this boat for a newer one. Larger, more modern, more luxurious than his peers'. Until the day they upgrade, too, and the cycle starts again.

Today, those two men have the same mission. Today, they are the same. Brothers. Busy transporting soldiers from the Dunkirk lands to the large military vessels on deeper waters. Some transport the men all the way back to England. Doing the same that hundreds of other civilian boats were doing at Operation Dynamo. Nearby, hundreds of soldiers run through a very narrow mole to the waiting war boat. Desperate ways to save their lives. Save the military of a whole country. A whole empire.

Later, surrounded by friends, both Norman and Fred will tell stories of that day. The gratitude of soldiers. The instant fellowship.

And how they though they say a gigantic poseidonic figure calming the waters, keeping enemy ships away and granting them a safe voyage.

Back on Downing Street, an exhausted Nooroo felt on the ground.

"We… we are doing it, Winston."

"This is not even the beginning, Nooroo. Perhaps, the start of the beginning." The Prime-minister thought for aa while, before writing the phrase down "let me save this for later. For now, lets continue. Even without the help of English Channeler."

* * *

JUNE 4TH, 1940

"338,226 people, Winston" Nooroo was trying to remove the cork of a Champaign by himself, without luck. "Operation Dynamo saved 338,226 people. The whole of British Expeditionary Force, plus some French divisions."

"Wars are not won by evacuations, Nooroo. All our vehicles and heavy weaponry now lies abandoned on French occupied soil."

"But there's a victory inside this deliverance. 338 thousand saved, Winston."

"Say that again."

"I said your leadership saved…"

"No, before that. 'There was a victory inside this deliverance' I can use that." The man wrote some lines on a piece of paper.

"You are starting to rub on me" The kwami looked at his dropper "In more than one way. Is that a speech?" he asked, looking at the papers.

"Yes, I must tell the parliament and the nation about Dunkirk."

Nooroo float around the papers, stoping at the end and reading out loud:

"'Even though large tracts of Europe and many old and famous States have fallen or may fall into the grip of the Gestapo and all the odious apparatus of Nazi rule, we shall not flag or fail. We shall go on to the end, we shall fight in France, we shall fight on the seas and oceans, we shall fight with growing confidence and growing strength in the air, we shall defend our island, whatever the cost may be. We shall fight on the beaches, we shall fight on the landing grounds, we shall fight in the fields and in the streets, we shall fight in the hills; we shall never surrender…' that's powerful, Winston. Inspiring."

"And we will fight them with the butt end of broken beer bottles because that's bloody well all we got!" sighed Churchill.

"Huh… I'd advise letting that last part out."

Winston thought a little and lighten up a cigar, and let a sad smile out.

"Fear not, Nooroo. Nobody on Earth is so skilled on broken bottle fights than the British."

He got up, put the speech on his briefcase and showed his intern pocket.

"Let's go, pint-sized companion. We have an Empire to save."

* * *

 **I am trying hard to bring down the number of my abandoned tales to zero. "Who Killed Trixie?" has only two chapters to go, and I found a way to end this one in also two or three instalments. But I am really wanted to know what you think of this one. It is taking a lot of research, and I am trying to be fair to one of my favorite History figure. So… how's it? Thanks in advance**


	4. Chapter 4

**\- The author does not own nor has any claim over Miraculous: Adventures of Ladybug and Chat Noir, it's characters or elements.**

 **\- This tale does not intend to be a history lesson. Author's bibliography on Winston Churchill and WWII will be post at the end of the story. However**

 **\- Like I said, he is one of the historical figures I admire the most. But, just like almost every historical figure, Churchill is not free of controversies and disastrous decisions. While I will not talk about this subject in this fic, his actions and lack of actions helped cause a humanitarian disaster in India. If you are interested, read** _Churchill's Secret War_ **, by** Madhusree Mukerjee **. It's not because I admire the guy I will sugarcoat this.**

 **\- Please enjoy. Opinions more than welcomed.**

* * *

The day after Churchill's "Never Surrender" speech was different. One could feel hope in the air, the whole nation united around a goal.

"Press is calling it 'The Miracle of Dunkirk'. Well, Miraculous it was" chuckled Nooroo, fluttering over the daily newspapers.

The Prime-Minister answered with a grunt.

"What's the problem, Winston? Worried about Stephenson?"

"No, we can always count on the Americans to do the right thing, after they have exhausted all the other possibilities."

"Then, what's the problem?"

"Now that the Battle of France ended, the Battle of Britain will begin."

"Do you think they would dare to invade the island? Their forces are beginning to spread thin."

"These are new times, Nooroo. They don't need thousands and thousands on an invasion army. A few dozen planes would suffice. The question is, how we stop aircrafts?"

The kwami thought for a while.

"It's a problem. In the past, the one with spies or the higher towers could prepare for the incoming of navy or troops, now the planes are already higher than…"

Churchill smiled.

"War rules do not change, purple one. We can still see the enemy first."

* * *

William Aitken, Baron of Beaverbrook, looked at the Prime-Minister and tried to reason. Sure, things changed. When they first met, it was on a spacious and rich-decorated office at Westminster. Now, it's a cramped room, furnished with cheap wood and plastic chairs and tables. Before, a window that let light in, and the eyes dance on a view of centuries of history. Now, just neutral walls, paint bought in bulk for some military officer. Before, an architecture jewel. Now, a hole in the ground. Call it bunker, but is still a hole in the ground.

"Sir… I am used to run newspapers. What you are asking is… too much of an ordeal"

"No. The largest newspaper in the world. And you accepted the position of my Minister of Aircraft Production. So… produce"

"But you are asking for a leap on radar technology… almost a miraculous leap."

Churchill looked at the winking kwami on his drawer.

"If you really put your mind and will at it… that can be arranged."

That was only one of the meetings Churchill had that day, returning home near midnight.

"So, how's dinner, Winston?" asked Nooroo

"It would have been splendid, if the wine had been as cold as the soup, the beef as rare as the service, the brandy as old as the fish, and the maid as willing as the Duchess. But let's see if my words made some impact on Beaverbrook or his scientists. Wings, rise."

Next morning, as if a miracle happened, a scientist presented Beaverbrook the plans of a new, more potent radar.

* * *

11th JUNE, 1940

As it was an usual happening on his private office, the telegrams, reports and newspapers were shared between Churchill and Nooroo.

"You did it, Winston."

"I fail to see reasons for joy."

"The American President Roosevelt. Yesterday, in his speech, he said some really harsh words against Italy and Germany."

"I already sent him a message."

"Congratulating him?"

"Asking again for those destroyers. I want him to put his pen where his mouth is. Specially now we lost two and the Glorious*."

"Well, at any rate, we can see they opening…" Churchill showed his Kwami a telegraph. The creature gulped "…the French Government left Paris."

"Pack a couple of butterflies just in case, purple Djinn. We're going to France."

"When?"

"Oh, after lunch."

Nooroo cold barely stay awake during the travel – fearing what could happen in a sky filled with enemy airplanes, he drunk more than ever and slept murmuring things about "A Resistance Ladybug" Winston did not understand, but was too immersed in his thoughts to question.

Things did not go well. Most representatives of the two countries waited for an answer from Roosevelt, that didn't came. Five days later, the German forces would be Marching in Paris.

Within a week or so, Nooroo followed the sequence of talks with the French Government, always on the run, getting worse every day,

"Never surrender."

"Let's discuss a union of our countries. No, not a deal, not a confederation, an union. Our two empires – and military – together as one."

"Fine, your government can surrender, as long as your army and navy don't and keep fighting."

"Right, you can surrender, as long as you give us your ships."

Things are really not going well, thought Nooroo, filling up his dropper again.

* * *

 ***HMS Glorious – a British war ship adapted to be an aircraft carrier. Glorious was sunk by german battleship Scharnhorst, near Norway. In an unrelated note, if you're a WWE fan, now you're with a song stuck in your head.**

* * *

A COUPLE OF MONTHS LATER

"We got shhhiips. We got ships!"

Churchill raised an eyebrow "Nooroo, you are drunk, and what's more, you're disgustingly drunk."

"Winston, you are ugly, and what's more, you're disgustingly ugly, but tomorrow I shall be sober."

"I can't deal with this now. I need to meet Harry Hopkins** and check the destroyers America finally sent. Don't leave the house."

* * *

 ****Harry Hopkins was one of Roosevelt's closest advisors and one of the architects of the New Deal. During WWII he became the de facto north-american leading diplomat.**

* * *

Even with the war effort on his head, Churchill could not stop thinking about his millennia-old friend. Maybe is time to teach him some temperance. So worried he was he didn't noticed he looked at the aged and rusty ships from the United States and said aloud what was in his head:

"Cheap and Nasty."

Hopkins mouth hanged open, mumbled:

"What was that?"

The Prime-Minister realized his mistake, adding, fast:

"Cheap for us and Nasty for the Germans."

Later that day, he got home, in dire need of some good news. Maybe Red Admiral could find some local hero tonight.

"Nooroo" he said, getting itn the butterflies room "Let's work. Wings, rise!"

Nothing. The Kwami, still drunk, just turned to the other side and keep sleeping.

Had Churchill lost the only trumph he had?

* * *

 **I am trying hard to bring down the number of my abandoned tales to zero. "Who killed Trixie?" has only two chapters to go, and I found a way to end this one in also two or three instalments. But I am really wanted to know what you think of this one. It is taking a lot of research, and I am trying to be fair to one of my favorite History figure. So… how's it? Thanks in advance**


End file.
